


Dans la solitude

by LittleLinor



Category: Spiral: Suiri no Kizuna
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, tw for suicidal themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 01:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17012958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: Eyes tries to move on





	Dans la solitude

**Author's Note:**

> (reposted from tumblr)

He lives, on the morning after Hizumi’s defeat, and has no idea why.

He would like to say that things are just a blur. But his mind is too sharp for that; they come in clear, precise shapes, cold knowledge and understanding, perfect, vivid and sterilised memories, instants without drama but only cruel clarity.

His head doesn’t add any embelishments. But he remembers with medical precision the feeling of his heart breaking, the moment and speed and which way the tear spread. The feather in his hand.

(The cracks in the glass under his hand, and the last peaceful smile Kanone gave, on camera, to someone who wasn’t him)

.

He lives, on the morning after Hizumi’s death, and despite Ayumu’s reassurances and Kanone’s sacrifice he is, just a little, surprised.

The world doesn’t change. He supposes it is a blessing in itself. Hizumi is dead, and the world doesn’t turn upside down with celebration or with violence. Instead the grey-ish sun of the English morning keeps shining on the busy city, and he wonders how many of their brothers and sisters woke up on this day and don’t know it could have been their last.

He spares a thought for Ayumu. It’s a good thing the ironically-nicknamed Little Brother takes no pity, though, because try as he may, he has none to share.

(Understanding, yes. Kanone gave them hope)

.

He lives, the day after his 20th birthday, but only barely.

“He froze like a deer in the headlights,” the driver told the police, and it’s true, in a way, even if no one he knows would believe that. No one comes to his hospital bed to hound him about it, however (though Asazuki sends him a text message that goes “I survived, don’t you dare die on us you piece of shit, I need a godmother AND a godfather”).

Three days later he is back on stage, bruises hidden under a flawless layer of makeup, and here at least his fingers run, unhindered, on pathways that have been familiar since long lost days.

Liszt isn’t on the program, but he plays it as an encore anyway, because even though the world is too sharp and clear to really live in it, every person he has met over the course of his life shared a bit of that solitude. And because he was (forcefully, lovingly) given hope, he has a benediction to pass on, so that it may never be forgotten.


End file.
